


So Small

by tymedfire



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Chains, Gen, Hurt Merlin, I'm also a slut for forehead touches, Slave!Merlin, former slave!merlin, im a slut for familial relationships yall, nothing graphic, this is super short, this title is also from a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tymedfire/pseuds/tymedfire
Summary: Slave traders journey to Camelot with a prize.Things don't go well.





	So Small

“So, you’re slavers?” It comes out more statement than question, and with more chagrin than King Arthur would have normally allowed to enter his voice in front of this many people, but he can’t help it. He’s been seeing his people and fixing their problems all day and he’s tired. He’s had a hard month and then these people--these slavers--have the nerve to enter his court with a slave; a court, a kingdom, where slavery is illegal. 

Needless to say, Arthur is fed up. He’s tired and hungry and, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to find anything to fill the hole in his heart that keeps getting bigger every day. All he wants is to lay in his wife’s comforting arms for the rest of the day, but he is King, and he has duties to attend to. 

“Yes, my lord, and we have brought you a most intriguing specimen.” Says the greasy haired slaver. There are two, the other standing back and keeping an iron grip on the iron chains around another man’s wrists. The man, the slave, is skinny, looks to Arthur like he hasn’t been fed in days, and has a bag over his head, but he’s struggling against the chains as fiercely as he can. 

Arthur raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the man. “A slave. You have brought a slave into Camelot, my kingdom, where slavery is illegal. Why should I not have you arrested right here and now?”

The man cowers slightly under Arthur’s glare, but continues. “Ah, because, my king, this slave is a sorcerer. We caught him outside Camelot in the woods gathering supplies for his evil intents.” The man in question gives a wordless cry of protest and begins to struggle even more. One of Camelot’s guards rushes to help keep him still.

Arthur regards the slave, then the slaver, curiously. “A sorcerer, you say? And what proof do you have of that?”

The slave trader startles. “Proof, sire?”

Arthur growls angrily, his hand gripping the handles of his throne so hard his knuckles turn white. “Yes, proof. What is your proof that this man is a sorcerer? And if he is, why, pray tell, is he still here?” 

The man stares at Arthur, seemingly gobsmacked. Arthur is beginning to tire of his subjects, and some from other kingdoms, coming to him with allegations of sorcery, only looking for a payout. It seems people still need proof that he is not his father. 

“Your king has asked you a question!” Guinevere snaps. She had tensed up immediately at the realization that these men were slave traders, and had been eyeing the man in the hood sympathetically the entire time the trader was speaking. At the usually reserved queens tone, the Knights of the Round Table, all standing near and around the throne, shift and not-so-subtly place hands on the hilts of their swords.

“We- we found him in the woods at the border of Camelot, across it. He was collecting herbs for a magical potion! He was speaking in a strange language! We bound him in iron shackles to trap his magic and a runed neck brace to keep him from speaking his words of sorcery.” The man stammers, looking nervous and proud at the same time.

Arthur’s expression darkens as his rage grows. He stands and walks a few steps toward the man. “Did you or did you not see this man,” he jerks a hand toward the man, who is still struggling against his captor, “performing magic? I would choose my answer very carefully if I were you.” Arthur can feel his Knights readying for a fight, particularly Gwaine, who had been restless and in as foul a mood as Arthur all month.

Before the slaver can speak, the man in shackles wins his battle with his captor. In an oddly familiar move, the scrawny slave hooks his foot on the back of his captors knee and kicks out, making the man lose his balance. He elbows the Camelot guard in the face and jumps out of their reach. Arthur’s Knights, as well as Arthur himself, unsheathe their swords, but the man doesn’t attack anybody, which Arthur barely has time to register as odd. Instead, he yanks at his chains to gather some slack, and reaches toward his own face. 

The entire room goes still as the ragged hood is yanked off and the bruised, familiar face of his manservant is revealed. 

The past month runs through Arthur’s mind in a split second; giving Merlin permission to go to the woods to pick herbs for Gaius, Merlin not coming back, sending out search parties to scour the forest, going himself to look for his friend. Watching Gaius’s face age ten years when he came back empty handed and filled with sorrow. Guinevere’s sobs when the entirety of the forest had been searched and it was concluded that her best friend was probably dead. Gwaine’s rage, Percival’s silence, the sadness in Leon’s eyes every time he glanced behind Arthur and found only air. His own silent sorrow, Guinevere holding him as he finally cried and couldn’t stop because it had been two weeks and his resilient manservant would have found his way back to him if he had been alive. He had still refused a new manservant, and avoided being in the same room as George if he could help it. Merlin was missing, dead, for a month.

Yet here he is, bruised, slightly bloody, and looking terrified and hopeful at the same time, but alive. Alive and staring at Arthur with wide, pleading eyes.

Arthur sees red.

The next thing he knows, the slave trader is on the ground, his throat under Arthur’s knee, his arm twisted painfully in Arthur’s grasp. He looks up and around wildly, searching for the other slaver.

The entire room is moving. Elyan has stepped in front of Guinevere, and his normally mild-mannered wife looks positively murderous, one hand gripping her brother’s shoulder tight enough that he looks like he’s in pain. Leon and Percival have grabbed the other slaver by both arms and have him pinned to the ground, also. Merlin stands in the middle of everything, Gwaine at his side, an unreadable expression on his face. As his eyes lock onto Arthur’s, the expression melts into one of relief.

Arthur can relate, will later, but for now he looks back to the man under his knee and growls, “You have lied to me. This man disappeared from just outside the gates of this city a month ago, collecting herbs for the court physician. And he is no sorcerer. Guards, take these men to the dungeons immediately and lock the bastards up on the grounds of slavery and treason.” He pulls the slaver roughly to his feet and holds out his arms for the guards to put shackles on them. 

“Arthur!” Guinevere’s voice is fierce but shaky. Arthur turns to see her at Merlin’s side, gently holding his hands in hers. She looks over at him and he can see tears barely held back in her eyes. “The keys. Get the keys to these things off him.” Arthur starts when he realizes that Merlin has been mouthing things at them, unable to speak.

He wants to punch something. Repeatedly. 

It seems Gwaine has the same inclination as a fist suddenly connects with the slaver’s face, sending him reeling. Gwaine then grabs the keys on the man’s belt and stalks over to Merlin, glaring at Arthur as if daring him to say something.

“He just hit me for no reason! Is this how Camelot treats its prisoners?!” Arthur levels a blank stare at him and replies,

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t see a thing,” then turns away and practically runs to Merlin as the guards take the men away.

Gwaine’s hands are shaking as he slides the key into the manacles on Merlin’s wrists. Finally, after what seems like forever, there’s an audible click and they drop to the ground. Merlin’s hands immediately go to his throat and his eyes plead with them to get it off. Guinevere pulls his hands away and squeezes them, pressing them to her chest. Gwaine swiftly unlocks the brace and as soon as the iron is pulled from Merlin’s skin, he drops, only held up by Guinevere’s hands and Gwaine and Arthur’s quick reflexes. The only indication that he’s not unconscious are the agonizing coughs that wrack his body. 

Arthur can’t take his eyes off his friend. A month of thinking that Merlin was dead, and now he’s here. Arthur wants to shout with joy.

Arthur only remembers exactly where Merlin has been this entire month when Gaius pushes through them and tries to coax something down Merlin’s throat. Merlin startles so badly he nearly knocks Gaius over. His eyes dart around wildly and he looks terrified for a second before he seems to remember where he is. He looks at Gaius and mouths “sorry”. He looks just as panicked as Arthur feels when no sound escapes his lips.

“Here you are, my boy, this will help with that.” Gaius presses the bottle to Merlin’s lips.

Merlin drinks the potion down and coughs again. His hands, still encased in Guinevere’s, squeeze hard. His eyes meet Guinevere’s, who is openly crying now, and he says, barely above a whisper, “Gwen.”

And then he cries.

As Merlin’s face crumbles, Guinevere lets out a sob and pulls him into her arms. Merlin tenses up, then relaxes and buries his face into her shoulder, both of them crying loudly. One of Merlin’s hands clutches at the back of Guinevere’s dress, but the other reaches out, fingers spread, searching. Arthur grabs his hand. Merlin’s eyes open and he lifts his head slightly to look at Arthur. He has a black and blue bruise on his cheek and a small scar running down his neck. Arthur wants to be angry, but it seems like all his rage has left him and tears sting his eyes. On his knees, he shuffles forward, behind his wife, and brings his other hand around to cup the back of Merlin’s head and presses their foreheads together. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe now, Merlin, we’ve got you. We’ve got you.” Merlin’s breath hitches and he lets out a sob and squeezes them both harder. Arthur finally lets his own tears fall, and sighs in relief. Merlin is safe. Maybe not whole, and definitely not unmarred, but he’s here, he’s home, and he’s safe. Right there, in that moment, holding his wife and his friend, Arthur makes a silent vow.

He’s never letting his friend out of his sight again.


End file.
